


Let's Blow This Popsicle Stand

by DemonicPiano



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Highschool AU, I don't know anything about baseball, M/M, RusAme, can i get uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPiano/pseuds/DemonicPiano
Summary: Alfred and Ivan have always been at odds since they were kids, but thoughts and feelings change. It's basically a journey of gayness and Taylor Swift's song where she goes, 'She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers,' but it's Ivan on the bleachers and Alfred plays baseball. Yeah.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Let's Blow This Popsicle Stand

**Author's Note:**

> Got a little bit of high school AU, some RusAme with mutual dislike, mix it in with a little bit of gayness...OH MAN, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN?!
> 
> Tried to keep it short, wound up throwing a plot in there. I don't know how baseball works. Bon Appetit.

"Fuck you, Braginsky."

"No, fuck _you,_ Jones."

"Boys, really? I'm trying to teach here. Take it outside. Go on now," the teacher prompted while the rest of the students snickered. "Why don't you go to the principal's office while you're at it?"

Alfred Jones and Ivan Braginsky glared at one another from two seats apart, pouring as much hellfire and fury between their classmates as two high schoolers could muster.

Alfred blew a raspberry.

Ivan rolled his eyes.

The battle was over. Everyone could breathe a sigh of relief and the teacher could go back to the whiteboard...until the next one.

A crumpled ball of paper landed on Alfred's desk. He immediately scowled at the culprit. The poor classmate in between them groaned and hung his head, trying to take notes amongst the fray. Alfred tried to keep his face smooth as he carefully and quietly unfolded the letter from Ivan, not wanting to attract the teacher's attention again.

_'You are a little bitch.'_

Alfred gritted his jaw, not even looking over because he just knew Ivan was sneering and doing that smarmy smile when he tried to get on people's nerves...and he always, _always_ seemed to get on people's nerves. Alfred's nerves, to be exact. He scribbled on the paper, mashed it into a ball again, and glanced at the teacher's back before letting it loose.

_'You're a big bitch.'_

The wad of paper went over Ivan's desk and landed on the floor. The student on his other side gave him a 'Really?' face. Ivan sent a glare in Alfred's direction because he had to lean over and grab it.

_'You can't throw straight. And you are in the baseball club?'_

_'It's way straighter than you can ever throw.'_

Ivan glanced at the paper, shook his head, then sent it back without replying. He kept his eyes to the board for the rest of the time.

Alfred stuffed the abused ball of paper into his bookbag, down to its deepest abyss, where binders and notebooks chewed the others to shreds.

He could say he won that one.

Math was boring when the teacher's lesson consisted of, 'I'm going to put this sheet of paper on the projector, now copy it down word-for-word, and we'll have a quiz tomorrow.' The end. Alfred wriggled in his seat, giving the clock a hard stare and making it nervous enough to run slow.

Finally, the bell rang, and a race started to see who could stuff their crap in their bags first and get out the door.

"Are you running away from me, Jones?"

"Yeah, because you're gross!"

"How am I gross?"

"Because you just are!" Alfred leaped away from Ivan as he shot forward to squish a heavy foot onto his own, "Stay away from me, you wacko!"

"You're still here."

Alfred took a menacing step in his direction, plotting to stick the toe of his sneaker against the back of Ivan's knee, but couldn't get a good vantage point while their classmates were pushing to get out. He harrumphed and took his wounded pride for the door.

Then he heard a low, accented, "Pussy."

"Ha!" Alfred loudly called over his shoulder, "You are what you eat."

"Then you're nothing."

"Fucking bastard. Yeah, keep walking," he warned behind himself, "I'm gonna get you."

Ivan stuck a hand to the side of his mouth and called over heads, "I'm very scared!"

"You better be! I'm going to make you _scream."_

Some of the guys and gals gave them weird looks in passing. "Dude..."

Their obvious giggling didn't help matters. Alfred squawked, "I-I mean because you'll be pissing yourself in fright! Not...ugh!" He spun on his heel and stomped away.

Maybe he'd have to mark that one down as a draw.

~.~

"How was school, dear?"

"It was fine."

"Did you get good grades?"

Alfred impatiently jabbed the top of his fork into the dining table, appraising the subtle divot it gave to its oak finish. "Ma, I don't knooooow. Why don't you check online?"

Mrs. Jones set her famous tuna casserole in the middle and smacked her son's hand away when it reached for a spatula. It was just the two of them; Alfred had a twin, Matthew, who was on the other side of town with Mr. Jones, but they lived in a different house. Not that either of them made the dinner table any livelier than it already wasn't. He didn't want to dawdle on his parents' relationship while getting his vegetables steamed over his own.

"What's with that look, dear?" Mom prompted from across the table. "You're quiet."

"Ma!" Alfred tried to downplay the annoyance in his voice by scooping up an ungodly amount of casserole, "I'm just"— _chomp!_ —"hungry!"

She praised, "That's my boy! Eat up!" before taking a bite that rivaled Alfred's.

~.~

Now, school lunches on the other hand were gross. If anybody didn't like tuna or casserole, or tuna in a casserole, they would be absolutely decimated with lunch ladies' dry-ass peas and burgers soaking in a five-inch deep pan of their own fluids. Not to mention the French toast sticks that were so hard that they could put a crack in the floor if someone dropped 'em.

Although Alfred would be fine sticking almost anything in his mouth as long as it made his belly full...

So, yay, French toast sticks for lunch.

Alfred took those bad boys and stepped into the eating area. A big area. Big school. Lots of sweaty, tired teenagers. Even he only managed to catch five hours of sleep, and the weekend was a long ways away. He smiled and bobbled his head toward some guy sticking his arm up and waving, coaxing him closer to friends.

Someone passed Alfred's footpath, and a large, pale hand dropped onto his lunch tray.

Totally not ready for that, Alfred gasped, shoulders hunching as his tray clattered to the ground. His poor lunch—his poor French toast sticks—ruined! He tore his eyes from the floor, nostrils flaring as Ivan tossed a snicker over his shoulder. A snicker! The man-child fucking snickered at him!

"Oopsies."

Oopsies. He freaking said OOPSIES?!

'Oopsies' didn't bring back Alfred's lunch.

Alfred stalked after his hulking figure. "BRAGINSKY, YOU BITCH! THAT WAS MY CHOCOLATE MILK!"

Just as Ivan turned around and opened his mouth, Alfred threw a fist for his face.

A satisfying hit. Ivan's head jerked and Alfred stumbled forward, but then caught himself to spring back, tossing up his hands for retaliation. The big lug fell into an empty seat on the other side of a terrified ninth grader, his arms sprawled from both sides and eyes rapidly blinking to process everything before they started to water. The lunch room broke into a roar of excited and frightened wails and that 'Ooh-ing' teenagers do whenever someone was in trouble.

"Ha!" Alfred shook his arm, which made a sharp pain run down his wrist, but he was a tough guy. It didn't hold him back. No, sir! "Don't dish it if ya can't take it!"

Despite the trail of blood oozing out of that big ol' nose of his, Ivan peeled himself from the table with a little smile, a roll of his head, and a creak of his neck to straighten over Alfred. "Oh, believe me," he rubbed his knuckles, coming close to Alfred's bouncing figure, "I can take it from you anytime, Alfred."

"Ha! Sure you can-"

"All right!" A lunch monitor shouted with security on her tail. "Enough!"

Still locked on their targets, the boys rounded one another...until they were shoved apart all too soon. Alfred just got blood on his hands, and thirsted for more.

"Principal's... _now!"_

The sea of students was still going hog-wild. Some took the distraction as an opportunity to start flinging food. Some were screaming, howling, beating their chests to make their friends laugh. Others rolled their eyes at the noise. Alfred and Ivan sent bullets at one another.

~.~

That was the first time it got physical. Not counting when Alfred threw mulch at Ivan on the playground when they were nine years old and Ivan cried and cried before punching Alfred's stomach and running away. It was the first time they got physical...and caught. Of course they got caught! They almost started throwing hands in the middle of the lunch room.

Mrs. Jones told Alfred to never cry over spilled milk, but Ivan was being a douche-nozzle. Yeah, that's right. He wasn't even good enough to be the whole douche. Just the nozzle.

Since they believed it was Alfred's first time throwing hands (a memorable occasion—he was sure it was all the way around the school gossip mill and back five times already), he was getting a three day out-of-school suspension. Three days off from school! Just from punching a dude!

"Really?!" Alfred balked at that. He should punch more people! People that deserve it, of course. He wasn't going to just go around and punch innocents. Ivan was anything but.

"Mr. Jones, we have a strict no violence policy. Consider these days off to think about what you have done and can do to prevent it from happening again."

Alfred was still all smiles, so the vice-principal warned, "I've also notified your mother. She's on her way now to pick you up."

Then, Alfred found his grin struggling to stay on his face.

The no violence policy meant the 'victim' would get hit with punishment, too. High school logic, after all. Looks like both of them got the rest of the week off. Although Ivan had it a little worse, swollen face and scowls coming out of the nurse's. Alfred was surprised that they didn't just 'slap a Band-Aid' on it and send him on his way.

"Fuck you, Jones," he growled as soon as Alfred stepped out of the office.

The security guard lingering by the secretaries' desks raised his eyebrows. A fair warning.

Alfred stuck his hands on his hips and harrumphed, "You wish!"

Totally owned.

"After today," icily, "no, I really don't."

Then Ivan was gone, out the door in a heartbeat for a guy his size.

After today, sure. Alfred's shoulders sagged from his heroic pose. What about yesterday, and the days before that?

Oh, no...

"Are you Mrs. Jones?" One of the secretaries overexcitedly greeted a newcomer, "How nice to meet you!"

Oh, no, no, no.

~.~

Mrs. Jones was a nice lady; a happy-go-lucky spirit like her son (or at least she hoped so), but she was rightfully pissed. Her little boy, star pupil and honor-roll student throwing punches?! That didn't sound like her Alfred at all. She demanded answers, or blood!

Okay, not blood, but she sure chewed off her son's ear all the way home, "Missing class, tests, homework! You have to catch all of that up! Think about your grades! Don't ruin your honor-roll on something so stupid!"

"Ma, he was being a dick. He slapped my lunch tray out of my hands!"

"I, well, yes, that is a dick move," she said. Her voice grew sharp, "But there are other ways to solve things than to go throwing fists, darling. Come on, you know this. Be the bigger person."

"Can't. Braginsky is just so damn tall."

"Wait," the car considerably slowed, "did you say Braginsky?"

Alfred gave his mom a weird side-eye. "Yeah..."

"The son?"

"Yeah..?"

"Again?" Her face smoothed as she gazed too distantly on the road. That couldn't be good. She was quiet. It really wasn't good, "I think you should go apologize to him."

"What?!" Totally not good. Bad, bad, bad! "Ma!"

"Those kids have enough on their plate as is. It's not a good part of town, and with both their parents gone...they're doing everything they can just to get by. Especially that oldest girl."

Alfred rolled his eyes. Now he was feeling bad. Probably all according to plan. That never stopped Ivan from being an asshole, though.

His mother sniffled, kept her chin up, and declared, "We'll head over there now, so you can apologize to his face."

"Mom!"

"I want to see it."

"Come on, no!" Alfred started to claw for the door handle.

Mom clicked the locks. "Oh? I suppose you rather have your X-box taken away for the time being? _And_ the weekend is coming up. The principal said to take that time to reflect on what you've done, and I'll make sure of it. I'm not raising a delinquent."

Alfred slumped his head back and let out an obnoxious groan. "He ain't going to listen to any apology!"

"Then that's on him. At least you did your part."

"Why do you always have to be right?"

"That's a mother's job, dear!"

~.~

Alfred's street was a nest of pretty houses and old ladies that would call the police on him if he left his garbage cans out too late after the trucks picked them up. That's how it kept being nice.

 _This_ part of town, however, down a few blocks, past some woods that his mother warned him never to go in ('cause the older kids would go there to do their 'shady businesses'), the apartment buildings and shops weren't as...maintained. Shattered windows, duct tape, and wood paneling must have been the curb appeal. Alfred scrunched his eyebrows together at the stark contrast of their roads, the broken sidewalks, the graffiti.

Oh, man, graffiti would never pass in his side of town.

"Poor people-ville..."

Even with a single parent income, the Jones family wasn't 'poor,' so to say. It was tough—money was tight sometimes—but at least they had a roof over their head and a working vehicle.

"Yes, some people aren't as fortunate as others. It's hard to get out of it, too."

A small group of young guys were in the opening of an alley, nodding to one another before setting vile eyes on the passing car. Alfred shot his mother a confused glance. "How do you know where they live?"

Mrs. Jones didn't respond for a moment, scrunching her mouth at the distant figures in the rear-view mirror, until, "I ran into the older sister one day at the market last spring. She was getting followed by...not so nice men, so I offered to take her home."

"Oh."

"Should be around here..."

It as just dirty apartment complex after dirty apartment complex.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring off the other end of the road. Alfred sucked breath between his teeth at the sight of a head full of pale hair, familiar broad shoulders and a long, raggedy coat. "Mom, please don't pull all the way. Mom!"

Mrs. Jones pulled all the way. Ivan whipped around at the sound of an engine, eyes wide and almost wild. His shoulders fell as he must have realized who was sitting on the passenger side.

"Go on, dear," Alfred's mother prompted. "I'll drive up a bit to give you two privacy."

Heat scratched at Alfred's face, his throat, "Why'd we need that for?!" He unhooked his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car before letting her give a proper response.

Mrs. Jones just shook her head and as soon as her son shut the door, she cruised a bit down the road. A good handful of apartments later, the car stopped. Alfred stared after her with his mouth pulled down.

"Too bad a car isn't coming to put you out of your misery, Jones."

"I could say the same to you," Alfred stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets as he stepped onto the bumpy sidewalk. "Your face is bleeding again. Did you pick your nose?"

"Yes. What? No!" Ivan vehemently shook his head side-to-side, and a wince may have escaped into the world. "I had to chase some rats away from my home because they told me my sister should sell her body instead of trying to make an honest living."

Alfred blinked stupidly. He didn't know what to say. "Oh."

These were weird parts of town, weren't they?

Ivan kept staring, unamused. "Are you seeing the sights?"

"Of course not! My mom brought me here."

"That was sarcasm," with a sarcastic smile, "but I shouldn't have expected you to catch that."

Alfred sighed in annoyance, "Yeah, whatever. She, uh, my ma wants me to apologize for punching you in the face today at lunch."

"Ah, does she? Is that her right there?" Despite it all, Ivan tipped his head to the vehicle down the road and made a snooty noise from his face, "What a nice lady. Too bad her son does not get it from her."

Again, "Whatever, dude. So, there's that."

"There's what?"

"You know what."

"No, I really don't."

"My ma wants me to apologize. So there."

"So...where?"

"There it is!"

"I see no apology."

Looking at the trail of blood coming down Ivan's nose proved to be a teeny therapeutic, "I don't wanna...you're a dick."

Ivan shrugged. "I guess we'll stand here all night then."

Cracks ran along each slab of the sidewalk, concrete slicking up from itself. The bottom of Ivan's boots was caked in drying mud, going up, hugging long calves cloaked by that tattered coat, then the mangey scarf winding around and around until it sat on top, which he had even back when they were kids. Except it now hung to his knees, instead of playing around between his feet and sending him face first into the ground. Pale face. Intense eyes. Ivan made himself out to be well beyond his years. Sometimes. For a moment, Alfred wondered if the streets did that to him. The trail of blood dripped onto the sidewalk. He was practically feral.

It was silent.

Heat clapped Alfred's cheeks as he couldn't tear his eyes away, so he shrieked in defense, echoing down the urban backdrop, "You knocked down my lunch!"

"You deserved it."

"You started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

"I did not!"

"You're a bitch, Braginsky."

"Bigger and a better bitch than you will ever be, Jones. Apologize, now."

Alfred whipped his head side-to-side, repeating, "You started it though!"

"I knew you were going to do something, so I figured I would do it first!"

"That doesn't...you fucking suck!"

 _"You_ suck." A step closer. "Apologize."

"You suck more."

"You suck the hardest."

Alfred took a hard step forward, almost closing the gap, "You suck so much...!"

"That what?"

"That...that...you're gay."

Ugh. Lame.

Something distant flickered across Ivan's face, but that soon withered under an ugly sneer, "Watch your tone, Jones."

"Or what?"

"I'll watch it for you."

"Heh. You're going to watch me? Sounds kind of... _gay."_

Alfred shrieked as a heavy hand grabbed the top of his head and spun him around before a particularly thick arm bent around his throat. "Apologize. Or choke."

"Mom! Mom, he's beating me up!"

Ivan's grip got tighter. Not enough to choke. Yet.

"I'm warning you, Jones."

Alfred wriggled and writhed and tried prying his fingers under Ivan's arm but the guy had a pretty damn good grip. Like a late night wresting champion who only ate bowls of nails and bad medicine...with two-percent milk. The leg kicking only seemed to encourage his snare to coil tighter around his neck. He yelled in utter betrayal, "Ma!" No car came. Surely she could see the attempted-murder from the rear-view mirror? If she did, she didn't do anything about it!

It had to be some form of child neglect.

Warm breath came too close to Alfred's ear, "It is good your mommy came along so she can watch me snap her boy's pretty neck in front of her because he likes being the bitch."

"You're a bitch... _augh!"_

"Apologize!"

Tires grounded against the asphalt. Mrs. Jones finally arrived. She lolled her head to one side, rolled her eyes, before letting down the window. "All right, boys, that's enough roughhousing."

Ivan was legitimately choking for real. Alfred could call the cops.

A deeper growl, and teeth grazed his ear, "Ah-pol-oh-gize. Or I break you."

"Boys!"

Alfred couldn't quite describe it. Maybe it was like opening an oven door and letting the heat slapping his face. Or he was a tube of yogurt getting squeezed, squeezed, and squeezed until he would pop, but that tube of yogurt was filled with hot, hot, hot. Other things stirred to life. In panic, of course. Yes, _panic._ Ivan was pressed against his backside, and Alfred could feel him all the way down. He managed to let out a little squeak and his last breath consisted of a weak, "Oh, fuck..."

He was only vaguely aware of the car door opening and catching himself on the sidewalk. The concrete bit into his palms and jeans as pieces of gravel and asphalt spun before his eyes. He sucked in a shaky breath, "Okay, okay...I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry..."

"I would like to ask if that was so hard, but apparently, it was."

It _is._

Alfred snapped his head up, eyes wide as his mother stopped in front of him with her hands on her hips. "I'd prefer if my child was alive, thank you."

"He is. Unfortunately." Sweetly, like he wasn't separating someone's spirit from their body a few seconds ago, Ivan bided, "You're welcome."

"See, Ma," Alfred sniffled and slurred, "I apologized."

"Next time boys, we will try to use our words."

Alfred shambled to his feet and ducked behind his mother as Ivan tried, "Sorry, Mrs. Jones. It's just that your son get me so...riled up sometimes."

"You could have severely hurt him, you know."

"Yeah," Alfred piped up, "you bitch, Braginsky."

"Alfred, go to the car."

"Ma-"

"Car. Now."

"Umph!" Alfred curtly turned away and eagerly tossed himself inside the passenger side so he wouldn't see Ivan's likely and smarmy look of countenance. Unfortunately, he had front row seats and Ivan faced his direction, so he had to stare at him anyway. Whatever Mrs. Jones was saying, it made the biggest man want to shrink into the size of an ant. Ivan hunched into his scarf, taking one end and gingerly bringing it to his mouth, nodding solemnly. As soon as she turned away, however, his eyes immediately landed on Alfred's and a wicked smile crept up the side of his face. A slap on the wrist for him, really, but it was a sucker punch to Alfred's gut.

~.~

It was an awkward ride home. At least for Alfred. The fall day wasn't too cold just yet, so he could get away with cracking the window and turning his nose for fresh air, for distraction. He still couldn't breathe right.

"Dear, are you all right?"

"Yeah." Alfred's tongue felt heavy as he said, "I fuckin' hate that guy." Hated his sharp breath in his ear. Hated that hefty arm straddling his neck. Hated his body pressed against his own. Alfred especially hated his heart leaping for the sky at the thought dashing from the corner of his brain-space that he tried to shove it into, leap into the open, then off to the side again, goading, 'Nah-nah-nah! Can't catch me! Here I am! Can't catch me!'

Fuck those thoughts.

Fuck Ivan.

Alfred stuck his palm to his forehead and groaned.

If he chanted _hate, hate, hate_ so much, maybe it would come true. It was so easy before. Why was it so hard now?

~.~

"Are you planning on behaving, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred rolled his eyes at the vice-principal posing as an obstacle between him and his homeroom. "Yeah!"

"Did your mother tell you to lay off the video games?"

Lying, "Yeah..."

It was enough to merit a pleased nod, "You're a good student, you know that?" Another eyeroll, but the guy kept talking, "I don't want this turning into some kind of violence streak, you hear me? Or else it will be much worse than suspension."

Alfred snorted, but his throat did something funny, and his voice came out more timid than he would really like, "What would happen?"

"It's your last year," he said as a matter-of-factly, "there's a lot of scholarships that want your attention. Don't ruin your future over petty squabbles."

Petty squabbles. Ugh. If only he knew. Alfred stared bullet holes in the vice-principal's back as he trucked back into the main office. Only then he was allowed to get to class.

Alfred wondered if Ivan got a stern talking-to first thing in the morning. What they would say? What future would they—could they—dangle over _his_ head?

~.~

"Hey, Al, welcome back. How was your time-out?"

"It was fine," Alfred pulled a smile and nodded at one of his teammates on the way to the locker rooms. He may have heard it for eight hours now, but at the end of the last period of the day, it was a little more bearable to listen to Twenty Questions again. For those lucky (or with no after-school circulars), they got to go home, but he had practice, and baseball season was in full swing. "Just hung around at home and stuff. I got to sleep in!"

"Oh, cool. Did your mom bitch you out about it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Other students were wrapping up their final class when they came into the gym. Some shoved out of the locker rooms, laughing and shouldering one another in a race to get out of the place while the teacher picked up extraneous basketballs throughout the gymnasium. She paused to give them a nod, passing the bat from school activities to after-school activities.

It was something Alfred's mother signed him up for in third grade. He liked it. Baseball was cool. An American pastime after all, for the American guy. He didn't watch it that much on TV though. Mrs. Jones sometimes mentions him getting scholarships and moving up in the world. A hero with a baseball bat. Nowadays, it just seemed like something he had to do after a long day of textbooks and notes.

Maybe that was just senioritis talking.

"Heard you gave Braginsky a concussion. Punched him right into a chair."

He hunched his shoulders up, trying to fix his face even though his guy was chattering away behind him. Why couldn't they talk about games? Or girls? Or...baseball, which he was girding to play? "No, it wasn't a concussion. I think I broke his nose."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Twice," Alfred lied.

His buddy whistled, "Damn, dude. I wish I got to see that." A short guffaw, "You know, you're like, the only guy that's got the balls to go up against him. Fucking scary-ass motherfucker. Everyone's been talking about it. I wish someone got a video. Maybe the school did, like, with the cameras in the lunchroom. Too bad they wouldn't let us see it."

'Yeah, I know everyone's talking about it,' Alfred almost said. "Too bad."

As soon as he stepped into the locker room full of caps and slacks and bare backs, hoots and hollers welcomed him back for another day of practice. Alfred locked eyes with the only unmoving figure in the midst of it all, sitting hulking on one of the benches between the lockers.

Just as quickly, the congregation of guys fell to a heated silence. They barely held back their grins and snickers—Alfred just knew it—as the outcast rose from his seat to tower over everybody's heads. No words passed; the evil eyes were enough as Ivan flicked his scarf over his shoulder like some kind of self-imposed fashionista, and left the crowd to gape after his strut. Must've been from the last gym class.

"Aw, man!" Someone said. "I was hoping for another fight!"

The group of guys broke and filled the locker room with obnoxious yelling and screeches like Alfred won something. He didn't.

That's all that happened. There was no need to keep thinking about it.

~.~

 _Just throw the dang ball already,_ Alfred wanted to yell across the diamond. The pitcher and coach prattled about something. Coach stomped a foot into the sand and pointed a ways away. No particular direction. The pitcher had a mean mug as he slapped the baseball into Coach's gloved hand before stomping away.

Alfred wondered what that was about.

"All righty, Jones!" Alfred stiffened as the coach shouted for his stance, "Let's check if you got flabby over your little break!"

Some of the guys snickered. Alfred's ears turned hot, but he swirled his bat around, ready for anything.

A fast ball. A solid hit. The ball went flying. Alfred bounced on his toes, about to drop bat and scram, but Coach doubled over, clutching his shoulder.

"What'd'ya doing, Jones? Run!"

Alfred jogged toward the pitcher's stand.

Coach straightened with an unhealthy grunt, turning into an annoyed growl. Alfred grinned, "Guess it's not me who's flabby now, huh, Coach? Arthritis bugging you?"

"Might be something else this time."

"You should go to the doctor."

"It can wait until after practice," he said. "Not like I'm dying or anything."

"You will be if your arm falls off."

"I just need a few throws to warm up. Get back to base."

Alfred rolled his eyes and jogged back. Coach didn't need to say it. He could not care less about his aging body. Alfred was still young. Everyone was worried about those dang scholarships, and he had a good swing and a steady aim. Coach wanted to be in the front seats to see it through.

He braced himself for a round of sucky, old man throws.

~.~

"How was practice, dear?"

Alfred could barely let himself talk past some freaking bangin'-slammin' lasagna, "Mmph, it's good, ma."

"That's good. Work was okay for me, too. Although some customer bitched me out for not having nickels in my drawer. Took forever for the manager to get that." Mrs. Jones sighed. "Some people just...lose sight of the big picture."

"Uh-huh." Alfred really didn't want to get philosophical at the dinner table. Maybe later on that night, when he was trying to sleep...

"You going to wash the dishes after supper?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, although it really wasn't a choice. He reminded himself that after customer-service all day, his mother came home and busted out dinner. Part of him wanted to be lazy and bemoan the mountain of dishes waiting for him in the sink. The other part of him that was growing up rolled his eyes and told himself to do it for her.

A few more bites. It was almost time for seconds for the both of them. Mrs. Jones finally said, "You've been quiet lately, dear. More so than usual. Is something bothering you?"

"I'm fine, mom."

"You can talk to me, darling. I want you to."

"I'm just thinking!"

"About what?" She did a closed-mouth giggle and tossed her eyes to the ceiling, "Wait, let me guess. What are all teenagers thinking of? Sex."

"Am not!" Alfred squawked as his cheeks ignited at the mere word.

"Oh, right," still sing-song, _"not all teenagers..."_

Alfred angrily took another chomp of his lasagna. Some good bits fell out and he shoveled that back in, too.

"That reminds me...it's been a long while since we had that talk. I figured with school and books, and the internet-"

"Mom. NO."

"It happens for a reason-"

"Stop it."

Mrs. Jones put on a million dollar grin, "When a man and a woman love each other _very_ much...or a man and another man...or a woman and another woman...or a man and another man love another woman, or two women love a man, or if they all love each other the same-"

"Mom!" Alfred hit the table with his fists, making the dishes jump. "I know this! I was thinking about the future! Jeez!"

"Oh, really? What's in the future?"

Not some crazy cluster of men and women, that's for sure. Maybe. Oh, jeez. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to stop himself from rolling them. "I ain't some kind of witch. I'll get there when I get there."

"You're a good boy. I hope you know that."

"I do." The weight of those around him had expectations, hopes, and dreams they never could live out and set them on his shoulders. The strain underneath made a good boy, apparently. "You tell me every dang day."

Mrs. Jones smiled.

~.~

That would be the last he would see of her for two weeks. It was off to Dad's house. The twins would basically swap spots, then again every interval. It seemed tacky to Alfred, but fair to the parents to see each kid in equal parts. Matthew would bemoan how it wasn't fair to them, their brotherly relationship. When would they hang out? Why couldn't _they_ see each other for two weeks? They didn't even share lunch together anymore. Life wasn't fair to everyone, was it?

Still, Alfred would smile and squeeze the daylights out of his brother on the way out the door. The exchange was still fairly new; Mom and Dad just separated over two months ago. They were still working corners and swamps. One of them was bound to come up an easier plan. They could hardly manage a marriage together. Let alone any family plans, so...

Until then.

Dad was less giggly. Less of a good cook. He mostly bought pizza and Chinese take-outs after his day at the auto-mechanics. Not that Alfred was complaining. Kind of a grunt-at-the-TV-or-tablet-whenever-someone-spoke-to-him kind-of guy. Ma said Alfred got his chatterbox from her. Days at Mom's was full of noise and background music, her little radio she set on the counter, her humming over dinner. Days at Dad's was much quieter...much more time and space for the world's thoughts to pound onto Alfred's head.

Matthew liked the peace. The nerd.

"Hello, my son," Dad greeted from his favorite spot on the living room chair. "How goes the journey?"

No wonder where Matthew's geekiness came from. Alfred wondered how his parents ever thought themselves to be compatible. Maybe they just needed to talk some things out and figured breaking things off was less of a hassle. Figures.

"A walk two blocks down the road is hardly a journey, Dad."

"It is, depending on what's on your mind."

"Yeah. Okay."

"So, I heard you got into a fight with somebody at school-"

Alfred tipped head back and wailed at the ceiling.

Dad lifted his eyebrows from his tablet for a change.

"It's just...I've been hearing this over and over again for like, weeks now."

"Ah. Guess we shouldn't talk about it then." Back to the news.

"Thanks," Alfred bided as he slipped away for his bedroom.

~.~

So life went on like usual, except Alfred went one way down the road to Dad's, instead of the other. Homework, procrastinating on projects (unless they were astronomy research papers—Alfred found himself some time to get into that), baseball practice, baseball games, hanging with the guys, walking home with the girls, yadda, yadda.

Turns out Coach strained a tendon in his shoulder. He freaking. Almost tore. A TENDON. In his shoulder, _a_ _nd kept trying to pitch._ To think it was just practice. Yet he kept chasing their regularly scheduled pitcher away from the diamond. He recently had a sprained wrist that set wrong, and was out late last season, so that warranted babying. Babying didn't get the curveballs flying, though.

"Yeah, the doctor told me I had to lay off it for at least three weeks. You know when season ends?"

"Less than three weeks," Alfred said, "that's for sure."

"Damn right. Then all the footballers come in and trample all over the place." Coach swung his head side-to-side, squinting at the weakening autumn sun. "I'm going to need someone to come in and help me drag out the bats before practice."

The pitcher, usually off-put from the other boys rowdy gathering in the dugouts, crossed his arms at Coach's back and offered nothing. Alfred glanced around the pit. The rest of the team besides a pair tossing a baseball back and forth was too far away to hear him. "Oh," he announced loudly, "guess I'll do that!"

Coach set a heavy hand on his shoulder, doing that fatherly pat and nod. "Good on you."

So that's why Alfred was walking into the locker room while the last period of the day was wrapping up. He caught the back end of backs and bags while students made their escape, but the door shut, and the locker-room went quiet. Relatively quiet, as Alfred sang under his breath as he slung his bag of clothes on the bench, "Oh, if I find some onions on my pizza pie, I think I'm going to cry-y-y..."

Instead of being productive and rushing out to chase Coach down, he slouched and stared at the wall of lockers. Metal, all black. Big enough to cram somebody in there. Even a tall guy like himself. Sometimes, the freshmen would open one up and stash themselves inside, acting stupid and laughing at their own jokes as they pretended to close the doors on their buddies. They were an upgrade from the middle school's, after all.

The day went slow. It was almost over. He could go home soon. Not soon enough. There was a game last Saturday, and another one coming up. They were on a winning streak. Colleges flooded the mailbox for his attention, but he wanted to travel around the country, go cruising, maybe eat some deep-fried foods that probably shouldn't be deep-fried in the first place. Skinny-dip in one of the Great Lakes. Meet some new people. Discover aliens. Something. Maybe he should have broken off from sports and volunteered at the fire station to save some lives.

Either way, he need money to do anything and sponsorships seemed looming in the future.

The echoing locker-room was relatively quiet besides...water running? Sitting in silence in an otherwise noisy place relaxed the mind...or made one mad. Lately, Alfred just felt lost, wandering aimlessly in multitudes. At least he was a good kid.

Was he?

Something clicked, and a door opened from the shower stalls. Alfred sniffed and straightened, blinking back into this tiny pocket of reality. Must've been a straggler. What kind of person would use the school's shower stalls anyway? Talk about foot fungus central.

The straggler stilled in the spot between the changing area and showers.

Alfred was stupid. He gaped and gawked and stared. Mouth wide open. Eyes just as the same. "Jeez, sorry, I thought everyone cleared out..."

"Jones," Ivan rasped, more out of shock than disdain.

'What?' Alfred mouthed, since no words wanted to come out and ping off a dripping wet and pale naked body. Well, Ivan had a towel around himself, but what good would that do? The image was branded and pressed in the scrapbook of Alfred's mind.

Nothing. They just stared at one another. Ivan looked just as shook as Alfred felt.

Alfred could bounce a coin off of his chest-

Oh, no, no, no.

That was under all those mangey clothes-

No, nopity, nope.

Alfred's burger-brains flipped and fried, and if his cheeks got any hotter, he would pop.

Oh, God. Why was he blushing?

Oh, no, oh, God. It could have been from the recent shower, but Ivan started to look a little pink, too.

Why were they both blushing?

Panic. Panic!!!

Alfred had to say something. What if it was too awkward? Although he decided not saying something and just staring would be _more_ awkward.

"You're...you're fucking ripped, dude."

Never mind. He was better off spitting bullets from his mouth. He should've went with a classical 'Fuck you,' and continued about his day.

Ivan shouldered by, off to dig around a locker that must have had his things. He kept his clothes under protection ever since sophomore year when Alfred and a few buddies took and strewn them around the main hall. Ivan had to put on his old gym clothes or walk around the school naked to pick them up. Of course he chose to put his old clothes back on. Especially with those...those marks all over his body.

Alfred almost put his heels on the bench to stick his elbows on his knees and clamp his palms to his cheeks, to curl in on himself and hide. _Naked body!!!_ The soundtrack of Alfred's mind kept spinning panic and more panic. It was almost a wonder Ivan didn't hear it.

Ivan moved around the benches and stopped in front of Alfred, steadily staring down all contemplating-like, but only if he was thinking about cracking Alfred's head on the wall until peanuts fell out. He had clothes on now, at least, albeit only a tee-shirt and—jeez, Ivan was wearing jeans. His arms were still bare. He was practically nude. Even in the spring, he stuck with long sleeves and thin jackets. They hardly saw one another in the summer. Up and under the white fabric over his shoulders, scores and divots poked his pale skin, and even down his forceps where several pocks peeked between the hair grazing his arms.

Alfred's insides churned, toiled and tugged in his direction. He went five whole minutes without saying anything. He didn't think he could start now.

After the second stare-down, Ivan slung his bookbag over his shoulder, spun on his heel and slammed a palm to a nearby locker, fraying the rest of Alfred's nerves, and cleared the area.

Once again, the locker-room was silent.

Alfred managed a pitiful squeak from the back of his throat. The intensity of it all glued him to the bench, threatening to hold him down forever, or until he could get his breathing back to a somewhat-normal. He wasn't scared of Braginsky, of a few scars (or a lot...) or an unsavory past. They picked at and teased one another because it was natural; the two toughest guys in the whole graduating class going toe-to-toe. Although Alfred was just a little tougher.

Now, he wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure of how attracted he was to the exact same guy he'd been egging for years.

Just because he had abs. It wasn't fair.

The door opened again, and he squirmed, thinking it was Ivan coming back for something, or seconds, but Coach popped his head in. "Jones!" He shouted, naturally loud, "What'd'ya doing? I've been waiting fifteen minutes for you! Come on, kid!"

"Uh, right, sorry-"

Coach was already out the door.

Alfred stuck his fingertips to his cheeks, feeling the burn for the rest of the afternoon.

~.~

Oh, jeez.

Oh, jeez, what was he going to do now?

Everything was going to be awkward. Scratch that! Everything was already awkward. A little dial was swinging in Alfred's mind, beating between second-hand embarrassment and 'Ooh, dang, that guy is S-E-X-Y!'

Although...it was like a little secret of his own. Alfred was certain that nobody else ever saw Ivan's titties. Ever.

But everything has to come with a cost, and Ivan had not turned his face in his direction once in their shared morning class.

When they were let out, Alfred lingered, making sure his books and binders weren't smashed into his bag for once, all the while Ivan sat in his seat, hands woven together in a tight bundle on top of his desk as he stared down the pencil-scratched surface. Neither could stay long. Perhaps it was a good thing Ivan never looked at him, because if he did, Alfred knew his heart would do that stupid thing where it would try to jump out of his chest.

~.~

Nah, it was stupid. Two seconds of bare titty and Alfred's whole life was a bookbag that some higher power took and turned upside-down and violently shook everything out like it was a clogged pepper shaker. Ah-choo!

Ivan was still a douche-nozzle. There were years of childhood rivalry behind their backs. It shouldn't make a difference.

But seeing that part of town, the scars of an everything-sucker-punch scratched into Ivan's skin...it did make a difference. Maybe Alfred was simply getting over himself and growing up. People put aside their differences all the time. Couldn't they? Should they?

The thing is...would Ivan even want to?

~.~

"We got a big game coming up. Rival's going to have us pinned if we keep up this slack!"

"I ain't slacking!"

"No! It's Coach! He keeps trying to throw the dang balls all the time! We're going to need some rope and tie him to the field goal at this rate."

"On the football field?"

"Yeah! Of course."

"That's enemy territory."

Coach came around after arguing with the pitcher again. "All right, team, gather round! We have two more practices after this until the big show down. There are still a few things we need to address, though, if I'm gonna get you boys into tip-top shape."

"Like your shoulder?" Alfred blurted, unleashing a few murmurs amongst the crowd.

"No, not my shoulder. Don't worry about my shoulder."

"What about pitching?"

"We have that taken care of, don't worry."

"How? He hasn't pitched with us in weeks."

"Yeah, Coach! What the hell?"

"Coach, come on, it's not fair."

"He's been wanting to throw."

Coach dissented, "He had at surgery-"

"In spring! You're going to need surgery if you keep it up."

"Yeah! Come on!"

"Come on, Coach!"

"He ain't going to stay long if you keep pushing him away."

"Didn't your dang doctor tell you to lay off, anyway?!"

"Argh! You boys and your...magical team-bond. All right." Coach shouted across the field, "Hey, cornflakes! Get over here!"

The pitcher threw his arms up in exasperation before crossing the sand.

"I hear one little creak go wrong about your wrist, we're getting you an ice bath, you hear me?"

"What about you, Coach?"

The team rumbled in amusement. Coach sent a light-hearted scowl through the group. "Look kid, I'm not trying to pick on you. I worry about you boys getting hurt, and I know some of your parents are a little.... _eh_ if you come home a little less than shining. I'm old. You guys got your whole lives ahead of you."

"Let me throw," was all the pitcher said.

"All right," Coach announced, "you heard the man. Jones, you're up first!"

Alfred grinned all the way to first base.

~.~

Baseball was a fabulous distraction. Trying not to get pinged in the face with a fast ball kept crazy thoughts tucked all nice and neat in the back of Alfred's mind. Homework, projects, tests, getting a job, petty rivalries...

Petty? Maybe it was. Maybe it has been all along.

Either way, it was time for the team to switch-up. Batters were now catching. Time to keep his eyes on the ball.

~.~

"Told you I could do it."

"I know, kid," Coach said. "I know. All of you boys continue to impress me. It bums me out that it's your last years."

"You need a tissue, Coach?"

"Or an ice pack?"

"Hey, now. Take five, boys. I wanna see more of those curveballs, kiddo! I think that's going to be our key to victory during the big-rush."

Alfred stared between his coach and the pitcher, eyes set off in the distance of the bleachers. Against the black paint and coats and bookbags, sat a lone figure, slouched with his elbows on his knees and palms cupping his face. He glanced around his team dispersing and chasing after their water bottles and smacking each other's backs before following, only to feint around the dugout full of chatty guys and along the chain-link fence.

A small path led to the bleachers, and in the middle of it all, Ivan kept staring out at the field despite there being no play at the moment. He didn't smile, but didn't scowl or frown as of yet, making for a wistful, perhaps thoughtful expression. Alfred's heart hammered louder than any bat striking a ball. He took a tentative step forward. "Um, hey."

Ivan looked up in alarm. "Hey?"

"What are you doing here?" Alfred made sure to blink innocently and keep his voice pulled back for once. It was a wild animal that chewed on the bars keeping it hostage. "I thought you weren't big on sports."

"It's sports," Ivan shrugged. Alfred didn't know what that meant. "Everyone watches sports."

"Besides the nerds."

"How is that fair? You are a nerd, too, Jones."

Alfred let out a sigh through his teeth and shook his head, being dramatic.

"I pick up my little sister from middle school at this time, but Irunya has it today. She gives me a break. Tomorrow, I give her a break."

"So you decided to come here."

"It is your last practice, is it not?" Ivan surprised Alfred, knowing that. "I never watch, but I thought maybe I could, just for today. Baseballs is..." He tipped his head toward the field of sand. A guy hooted at who-knows-what from one of the dug-outs, and he blinked from the noise. "Fine. Hockey will always be better."

"Hockey? Really?" Alfred snorted, sticking the bottom of his cleats to a corner of the bleacher below Ivan. "You sound like my brother. He's freaking rabid on ice."

"Much more action and fighting than this...whacking balls."

Alfred let out air from his nose. They were having a civil conversation. One that wasn't school-related or teacher-forced. "It isn't my last practice. I still have all this week before the game on Saturday."

Ivan looked at his lap. "Oh."

Alfred thought about him blushing again.

"It is nice. The comradery. The...'bros.'"

He had to laugh at that one.

"What? Your team is your 'bros,' yes?"

"Yeah. They are."

Then came the awkward silence. Eyes avoided each other. Ivan had shed the gauze from his face, his busted nose, but it was seeing a better day. Something deep inside Alfred remembered what it was like to punch it. Another part wanted to kiss it better.

"Um," Alfred said aloud.

Ivan turned his head. "What?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"You obviously want to say something."

"I don't know what to say," Alfred admitted.

Ivan nodded. Neither had to say why. "I am surprised. I thought people would be giggling behind my back by now. Or whatever they do."

"Is that why you came over? To shake me down and make sure I don't blabber to everybody about..."

"No, Alfred. Everybody already looks at me weird. I do not need their pity." Ivan slowly turned his head to gaze intently into blue eyes. "I do not need yours."

"I wasn't going to give you any pity," Alfred blurted. Blinked. Ivan still stared, not offended or amused (at least externally, yet). "It's just...what happened?"

A long silence. Another stare-down, more thoughtful. Alfred thought Ivan wasn't going to answer until, "It is a bad part of town. When people could be nice, they decided to be mean instead."

"Seriously? Like, all those shady people doing..." Alfred trailed off as Ivan curtly turned his head away. "Never mind. What have you been up to?"

"What? Why do you ask that?"

"I don't know, dude! I mean...we're talking, right? Unless you just want to start punching each other?"

Finally, _finally,_ Ivan put out a little smile. "No. You haven't irritated me too much today."

"Cool."

Great. Now what?

"You have a lot of friends, Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"You don't punch anybody else. What is it about me that gets you bouncing around like an angry little dog?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Ivan shrugged, looking like a silly fool. "It is something we always did."

"Why though?"

"I...I don't really remember anymore."

"Do you think we were stupid kids?"

"I still think you're a stupid kid, Jones."

"Heh. Fuck you, Braginsky."

That should have been the end of it, but when Alfred was about to turn away, because five minutes were more than up already, Ivan called out, "I think...we could've been friends...if you weren't such an asshole."

Alfred whipped around, trying to downplay the shock on his face.

"It's a shame, isn't it? That it cannot be."

"You think?"

"Do you?"

"Come to my next practice," Alfred blurted.

Ivan smiled.

~.~

"Hey, Dad."

"Hello, son. How goes the journey?"

"It was fine."

"Did you get a homerun?"

Alfred snorted and flopped his bookbag beside the couch to make a bee-line for the fridge. "Yeah, yeah. Got any good snacks, old man?"

"There are some fried plantain chips in the cabinet."

"I said _good_ snacks."

"Anything interesting happen today at school?"

"No, it was school."

A grunt. End of discussion, Alfred guessed. He stopped in the middle of the small kitchen, wiping his palms on his jeans when certain thoughts came creeping to the front of his brain again. "Um, Dad, actually..."

"Huh."

Alfred walked over to the couch, because he sure didn't want to shout it across the place, "Dad..."

Dad lifted his chin, but not his eyes from his tablet. Based on the little tacking noises, he was filling out a crossword. "Yeah?"

Maybe he should save it for Mom. Eh, but Dad finally pulled his eyes from the screen with a curious look. Alfred's chest fluttered as he licked at his lips, "What...what would you do if I said I think I'm gay?"

Dad stared for a moment, before pinging on his tablet again. "Your brother already asked me that."

"What."

Nothing. Alfred prompted with a hard shake of the hand, "Dad!"

"I don't know, kiddo! Isn't everyone a little gay nowadays?"

"I-I guess! I don't know!" Alfred echoed. Dad nodded. It must have been a good game. Al grunted in annoyance, embarrassment, and relief, all at once, and fled into his room for some heavy thinking time. He pulled out his phone and went for the Internet. Staring at an empty search bar, he grimaced to himself. He put his phone down, because if he took one of those 'Am I Gay?' quizzes, he already knew the answer.

~.~

Girls were nice. Girls were great!

 _Sigh._ It felt like a chore to think about girls. Alfred used to like them. He still did. Kind of. Just not as much now. He didn't think about boys so much, either. Both were fine. They both had their own things going for them. Nobody had a rocking bod like Ivan, though. Unless they did? Alfred didn't care for them.

Ugh. He was still thinking about that guy's boobies even though the locker-room incident came and passed like, almost two weeks ago. He's been doing some heavy thinking since then.

Since the day their homeroom teacher introduced him, Ivan was always by himself. He could hardly speak English back then, and would always cry and run away whenever somebody teased him. Then puberty happened and now he could pick somebody up just by their head and crush their skulls like a soda can with his bare hands. Oh, man. Oh, maaaaan....

That never stopped Alfred. He didn't pick on anybody else. He liked antagonizing Ivan. That guy always pulled the funniest faces. His accent made the insults better. Back and forth, back and forth was their little game that nobody else could play like they did.

But he liked when they talked on the bleachers, too.

Can people be buddy-buddy and still shove one another in lockers for the fun of it?

"Jones!"

Alfred jumped, knocking his legs against his desk. "Huh? What?!"

His classmates snickered.

His history teacher swung her head side-to-side. "Planet Earth. Page 28. Forth paragraph. You going to read it?"

"Sure, I guess!"

~.~

That's it. That's _it,_ dude!

Alfred wasn't confused anymore. At least about the gayness. He had enough angst thinking about his future. He didn't need anymore boxes of stress stacked on top of the already swaying pile.

He decided that getting Ivan to smile and giggle and blush was way more awesome than any evil scowl sent his way. Although the scowls were kind of funny, he may have been right; Alfred had been a little bitch at one point, but that time was over! Now he was going to be a little love-bug. No, a big one! The biggest.

Thinking about how he picked on Ivan at school, only for the guy to go home back to that horrible place, with horrible people...nuh-uh! No more. He was going to get some love and tenderness and gayness ASAP to combat all that evil junk.

And he was going to like it!

~.~

That morning class together made Alfred's insides do all kinds of crazy things they usually didn't do. He kept casting peeks to the side, over his neighbor's head to catch Ivan's. They were still kind of avoiding one another, avoiding confrontation...or at least Ivan was. Alfred was all eyes.

Heart eyes, motherfucker.

So as soon as the bell rang, and boy, did time go fast when Alfred was zipping around on Cloud Nine, he hatched a devious plan. Oh, wait, not a devious plan. He was done being devious. It was just a plan, but it was a good one. All of Alfred's plans were good ones, after all.

Alfred let everyone else out of the classroom first, making sure he kept a keen eye on the back of a pale head of hair. Then, with a casual exit, he strolled with the crowd, maintaining a decent distance of several bodies. Ivan had his next class all the way at the end of the hall, so he would still be walking while the other students between them broke for their own classes.

Once a good line of sight was clear, Alfred hurried forward, stunted a foot to the floor, and gently tossed his shoulder against Ivan's back. Just enough to get his attention. Ivan tossed a hard look behind himself, double taking when he saw who it was. He jabbed an elbow in Alfred's direction, who neatly dodged it and came up to his other side.

"Ha! Oops! Hey, big guy!"

"What."

Louder, "I said, 'Hey!'"

Ivan gave him a confused stare. Like, what does 'Hey?' mean. Did 'hey' get a new meaning in the last few weeks? Oh, no. What if he thought Alfred was saying 'hay' instead, like an enthusiastic and hungry horse?

Alfred couldn't help but smile up at him. What a silly dude. Hey was just hey. Plain and simple.

Apparently, Ivan minded that, "What are you doing?"

"I'm walking!" Alfred said, as if it weren't obvious. "What are you doing?"

"Walking."

"Uh-huh?"

More funky looks. "Yes..."

"What'cha you doing later on?"

"Earth and Space Science?"

"No, doofus, I mean after school?"

"Picking up my sister?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"Probably the same thing." Ivan slowed, and took a sharp breath, but whatever was supposed to come out, didn't as he stared at Alfred swinging his arms and beep-bopping on his toes. "What kind of game are you playing, Alfred?"

"Baseball!" Alfred said with a grin. "Are you coming to my practice tomorrow, or what?"

"I thought I already said that I might have to pick up my little sister after school."

"Well, if you _don't..."_

Ivan's gaze jumped around the hall like there were some unfathomable math equations flashing before his very eyes. "Well, but, maybe, I..."

This was so exciting. Way more fun than shouting at each other. Alfred couldn't stop smiling; he was making Ivan squirm. Time for the ultimate sucker-punch. "I want to see you there."

"Why?!"

"So you can see how awesome I am. Duh!"

"Ah." _Blink._ "Of course."

"Is that a yes?"

Ivan snorted, pulling away with a shake of his head. "Don't be such a silly man, Jones."

"Hey!" Alfred shouted as Ivan turned his back on him. "Is that a yes, or not?!"

~.~

 _Or not._ Maybe. They didn't catch one another for the rest of that day.

Alfred's last baseball practice was tomorrow. Ivan couldn't make it today, and if not tomorrow...

They would still see each other in school, but it wouldn't be the same. They wouldn't have an excuse to step away from everything and just talk.

Wait. The locker-room. Last gym class of the day.

Alfred pelted out of his last class like his butt was on fire. Any faster, then it would ignite, actually. Whoosh.

"Hey! No running in the halls!"

Whatever, wanna-be security guard. Can't catch him, sucka!

Alfred busted into the gymnasium. It was empty. "Shit!" The school was huge. Took a while to get from Point A to Point B, no matter what the teachers said that four minutes between classes was enough time to do it. They were wrong!

The locker-room had cleared out. Alfred dropped his uniform bag on one of the middle benches and crept around the lockers. Oh, yeah! The shower was still going on. He wasn't too late; there was only one guy that took showers at school, and he overheard the other kids snickering about it. Maybe the foot-fungus kept Ivan company. Alfred didn't know. He'd say he didn't judge, but then that wouldn't be entirely true.

As soon as the water stopped and the stall door opened, Alfred whipped off his tee-shirt and held his arms out in a 'Come at me!' gesture.

Ivan stepped into the junction between the shower stalls and changing area, totally dripping and naked. Woo! He stopped. Glanced Alfred down for a too-short of a second. Furrowed his eyebrows. "Alfred. What-"

"Whoops! Looks like you came in at a weird time, huh?"

Alfred risked a little peek downwards. A little further down, actually. Ivan did not have any fungus as far as he could tell. Bless.

Unamused, "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed? Do you like asking obvious questions or something?"

"No, you're doing something else."

"Showing you my titties?"

Ivan squeezed his eyes shut, vehemently shook his head, as if to shake the image away, but—ha-ha! Alfred's glorious pecs wouldn't be shed that easily!—and marched around the benches for his locker. The angrier he was, the thicker the accent came out, "You are playing game."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are!"

"You can't just say that!"

"Stop staring!"

Alfred spun around to look at the lockers and pouted with his arms tightly crossed across his bare chest. To think he looked good in just jeans, too.

"I don't know why you pretend to be nice. It's not funny, Alfred. I'm onto you."

Ivan could get on him _anytime._ Alfred smiled stupidly. "I'm not pretending. I'm actually a nice person."

"Ha! Now that is a little funny."

"You think so?!"

Ivan slammed his locker shut. Poor locker. _"No!"_ He came around in a storm, typical scarf flapping against his behind in a taunting wave, "After everything, _everything_ you say, everything you do, this! This is what you come up with?"

Alfred gave a small confused shake of the head.

"A game!" Ivan concluded with much pizzazz an angry flourish of the hands could handle. He jabbed a sharp finger right into the middle of Alfred's chest, on his collarbone, "You play a game. You act like a funny man, Alfred, but I am onto you."

"...game?" Alfred echoed, "What game?"

A snort, and Ivan pulled away.

"What game?!" Al demanded after his backside.

The door to the locker-room probably would slam shut if it didn't close on its own, but Ivan was gone.

Alfred tipped his face to the ceiling and shook his fists. "Whaaaat gaaaaaame?!"

"Dude," someone said behind him. Alfred turned around. One of his teammates had came into the locker-room. "Get a shirt on."

~.~

No wonder he wasn't taking Alfred seriously. He was playing a game. He had to be. Honestly, after so many years of what they made each other go through, it kind of made sense. If Ivan randomly came up to him and started to wiggle his hips and wink, he'd be a little freaked out, too. It was a nice thought now, of course, but if it happened like, two months ago or something...

So, what? Every time Alfred was going to smile and be relatively friendly, it had to be a joke? Someone couldn't _possibly_ be nice to Ivan, or else it was FAKE?

...has anyone but his sisters been nice to him?

Alfred got so ticked thinking about the whole thing and let his mind spiral into a deep bit of _what if's,_ he wound up striking out for the first time that week. Coach tossed his arms in the air, exasperated, but soon doubled over and clutched his shoulder. Al took himself and his bat and stomped away from the next batter.

The bleachers were empty.

~.~

Hell no. Oh, HELL-TO-THE-NO. Alfred would not, _could not_ go through all that heavy thinking and gay angsting for Ivan not to take him seriously.

That just made him mad. More spiteful. He was really going to give it to him. Big dose of feelings coming right up.

~.~

Friday. Last baseball practice. Big game tomorrow. It was probably not going to be much throwing and batting as much as deep breathing and plotting how to overthrow the other team. As soon as he woke up, Alfred was already dreading it.

During the Shared Morning Class, he hunched over his crossed arms on his desk, keeping a steady glare on the whiteboard the entire time until his eyes glazed over. When the period ended, there was no contact, with the eyes or physical. Alfred wondered if Ivan was even thinking about him. They could just go on like that, never speaking to one another again, and the harsh memories would simply go down in history. A shot of unpleasant heat ran up Alfred's neck.

"Hey, asshole!" Alfred shouted down the hall. Some other busy-bodies turned their heads and stared as he marched after Ivan's retreat. "Are you going to come to my practice today or what?!"

Ivan kept walking.

Alfred hustled a bit more. "Ivan!"

Ivan jumped, stopped in the middle of the walkway and turned around, looking like he just came from a tough nap. "Who? Me?"

Really. This was the guy Alfred's brain-space was like, 'Ah, yes, that one. That one's good.'

"Uh, yeah! You! Fuck-nuts."

Ivan scrunched his eyebrows together, mildly offended but looking cute while at it, "Did you just call me fuck-nuts, Jones?"

Alfred stopped to kick the side of his shoe, "Come. To. My. Practice!"

Ivan scoffed and pulled his leg away to return the favor and squished the top of Alfred's sneaker. "Why do you want me to sit at your baseballs so bad?"

"I don't know man!" Alfred knew why, but words were so hard sometimes. His arms were getting brushed and pushed by other students not caring for their troubles in the midst of the crowd. "So we can hang out?!"

"Why, Alfred? I thought you said you were not giving me any pity."

"I'm not!"

"Then why else are you being so nice? You are not very subtle, you know that, yes?"

The carpet looked interesting! Actually...Alfred didn't want to know anything about the poor, trodden and variously stained carpet.

"Did you hear me, Jones?"

"I'm gay."

"What?"

"I'm gay and I think you're fucking hot, okay?!"

Some nearby students slowed, the ones that were in their classes knew them and gawked, exchanging open-mouthed glances of shock.

Alfred told them, "You heard me! Now, fuck off!"

They indeed, fucked off. Alfred tightly crossed his arms, glaring at the further wall of the corridor because his cheeks and ears had to flush red on the ready. Blushing totally cramped his style, man.

"You shouldn't joke around about things like that," Ivan murmured. "It's mean."

"Mean? Mean." Nothing. Alfred snorted. "Right."

"You don't say those kinds of things to people. That is low, even for you."

"Stop looking at me like that! I'm not...I'm not fucking playing a game with you. I'm being serious, you asshole! Quit saying I'm not!"

Ivan narrowed his eyes, obviously still not buying it, but...maybe some battered piece beneath it all could kick back to life sometime soon.

Alfred had to really sell it, or the joke would be on him.

"Look, ever since I saw you in the locker-room...I-I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you, okay? I mean the scars, yeah, but like... _gay_ stuff, you know? Gay stuff about _you._ A-and we've known each other for years already and honestly, sometimes you irritate the hell out of me, but it makes me feel stupid whenever you smile or laugh but it feels good and it could only get better if I was the one making you do all those things and I thought it would be good to get your mind off of whatever goes on at homebutwestillcouldbeatthecrapoutofeachotherifyouwant _but-"_

The only way to describe funky face after funky face that Ivan was making is to blow a sharp breath in a cat's face and watch their whiskers twitch and their eyes squint and blink in offense.

Alfred pointed a menacing finger toward Ivan, "D-don't say I'm joking around! I'm not! So, fuck you!"

He spun on his heel, needing to take a breather 'cause _goddamn,_ but something hooked onto the handle of his bookbag.

"Let go of me!"

"Alfred."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Are you going to walk away after saying all of that?" Ivan innocently asked.

"Yes!" Alfred snapped. "I am!" Then, he squashed his sneaker on top of Ivan's boot again, making him hiss in pain.

"Why did you do that?!"

"Because you think I'm a joke!" Alfred made a move to yank forward, but Ivan still had a firm grip on his back bag. "Let go, stupid!"

"You are the one acting stupid right now."

"Let me have my dramatic exit!"

A teacher, after unleashing her class of gremlins into the world, propped herself on her open door and glared menacingly so things wouldn't escalate. Over the collective chatter, Alfred barely heard, "Let me tell you something."

He whipped around, eyes wide. "What? What!"

Ivan immediately released his clutch, suddenly bashful enough to take into that thick scarf around his neck and pulled some to his mouth, muffling, "You are being serious about...what you said?"

"Of course I fucking am-"

"Just say yes, please."

"Uh, yeah!"

Ivan shallowly nodded, eyes stuck to the floor. "Then I will come to your baseball's practice."

With that, he turned around and practically shoved himself through the crowd to make a quick getaway.

Despite standing in the middle of the tide of students jostling and shoving by, Alfred stared after the spot Ivan had vanished, and a slow smile took over his dopey face. He wasn't so angry with the world anymore.

~.~

Yee-haw.

That was all the dancing gay little cowboy inside Alfred had to say.

Yee. Haw.

~.~

Alfred busted into the locker-room as if everything was aflame and there was a juicy bacon-cheese-deluxe burger in the midst of it all, crying for his help. Or something more important, like a toddler lost in the flames.

Or something way less darker, a sexy man-beast taking a shower right at that moment, about to come out with only a towel on! Woo-hoo!

Alfred shed his school clothes and got in his baseball duds ASAP. The shower stall door opened, and he hustled to the doorway, almost bumping into Ivan. "Yo!"

"Alfred!" Ivan jerked his head back, obviously surprised.

Alfred stuck an arm up and against the wall, looking cool. "Hey, big guy. You staying?"

"Wha...I thought I already told you, yes."

"Good. That's good." Alfred got ballsy enough eying a particular droplet of water run down a score along Ivan's left breast, that he ran a fingertip through its path. Ivan hunched up his shoulders, eyes going wide and shocked. Absolutely shocked, Alfred would say. He giggled and ended his touch with a playful tap of the chin, "I'll see you out there, then."

Normally Alfred wouldn't _flounce,_ but what better time to flounce out of the locker-room, duffle bag in tow, and the persistent gaze following his backside from a man welcoming the Sun after hundreds of cloudy days?

~.~

"I want to do something different today, kids. How about something a little fun and challenging before our big game tomorrow? I think you deserve it." Coach picked up a baseball and gave it a soft toss in the air before catching it, "I am going to..." He relinquished the ball into the pitcher's expecting glove, "Actually, he's going to throw pitch after pitch, and each batter on deck will hit as many as they can without striking. Winner will buy the rest of the team ice cream, how about that? Ha-ha!"

As the batters lined up, giving plenty of leeway from rabid swings, Alfred kept glancing toward the bleachers from the corner of his eye, getting shots of giddy feelings each time. Then he was up to bat. He totally had this one in the bag. That guy was going to be _his_ guy.

Now...to actually talk to him face-to-face about everything...

He swung, but the ball ducked under his bat. He blinked stupidly. _He missed on the first shot?_

"Does...does that count?"

"Come on, Jones!" Coach called. "No, it doesn't, since you didn't even start yet. I don't know what's been up with you, but you better get your head in the game because we have a big one tomorrow!"

Just hearing that made Alfred's heart lurch in a funny mix of nervous and excited. Nervous-cited. He stunted his legs appropriately and bounced in place, readying for the next pitch. He didn't just have himself to impress.

~.~

"Take five!"

Alfred broke from his squad and pelted cross the field.

"Damn, if only he ran like that during second..."

"Hey!" Alfred busted into the bleacher's little private atmosphere. "Did you see that?! Seven! I did _seven_ hits in a row!"

Ivan smiled from the middle of it all. "Is that good?"

"Yeah, 'cause someone else did nine and that means I don't have to buy everybody ice-cream!" Alfred hoisted himself up a few rows and flopped down beside Ivan. "Phew! Damn. We got a big game tomorrow. I'm totally going to knock it out of the park. Ha, get it? Knock it out of the park...'cause baseball. Heh."

Ivan gave a shy, if confused smile.

"That...that was supposed to be a joke-"

"I know, Alfred."

"Cool." Alfred turned his head away, stuffing a hand through his hair, pretending he was doing something. A part of him sang and called for Ivan's side, but it felt weird, alien. Sure, he showed the guy his glorious pectorals, but talking about _feelings_ and gay stuff? Oh, man. Oh, maaaaan. Talk about awkward.

"Your game tomorrow is the last one of the season?"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do after?"

Alfred shrugged. "Get to go home at a normal time?" He faced Ivan again, and wound up smiling at him doing a little tip of the head.

"No scholarships?"

"Oh, that..."

"That? You don't like that?"

"Well, maybe. I don't know if baseball is something I want to do for the rest of my life. Or, you know, until I get too old."

"That is what everyone expects of you, yes? To play baseball? You're good at it. What else would you do?"

Of course, one teeny compliment sent Alfred's face ablaze. "What do you want to do then, huh?"

Ivan's eyes slipped away, going distant, miles, perhaps years beyond the chain link shielding the bleachers from any stray balls. "I want to go somewhere where it is always warm," he finally said. "And have enough space to grow a garden."

"That's it? No...big goals?"

"You may not see it like that, but it is a big goal for me, Alfred."

To get out, claw out of the slums, count change and finally leave that broken road behind himself...

"You're tacky."

"And you're sweaty."

Alfred bumped their shoulders together, earning a delighted giggle, which Ivan quickly stuffed his scarf to his mouth to hide. Oh, fudge. His tongue slipped, "I-I think you're actually kind of cute, dude."

"I always thought you were kind of cute."

"What! Really? Why didn't you say so?!"

"Because you're an asshole, Alfred."

"Oh, yeah..."

Ivan returned the favor and gently shouldered Alfred. They exchanged cheeky smiles. So much better than vile scowls and curses over broken noses. He could have it. He could walk with Ivan between classes, after school, maybe invite him over. He could go to the baseball games, and if Alfred _were_ to get scholarships, he could be in the stands, cheering him on as he played, played, played until his body ached like Coach's...

Ivan quietly laughed to himself. Alfred must have had an intense expression going on. "What are you thinking about?"

"I don't want to do baseball. I want to travel. I want to go to each and every state and eat all kinds of food and meet all kinds of people and do all kinds of things. Do you know they deep-fry butter in some places?"

"I heard of deep-fried Oreos..."

"Yeah, that too."

Ivan let out a short hum, nodding and thinking along of the roadmap Alfred was already scrawling in his brain-space. "Traveling would be nice."

"We'd need money," Alfred said.

"Baseballs."

"Just for a little bit. Just to get enough."

"Yes."

"Then we could get out of this dump."

_"Yes."_

Their noses were practically touching. Alfred was getting more and more swept up in these budding feelings, although it would be more accurate to say that he shrugged instead, said 'Fuck it,' and did a cannon-ball right into the pool of Ivan's eyes, filled with the same wonder. It could only get much more sweeter as a nervous hand brushed the top of Alfred's before taking it in his own.

If Alfred was sweaty before, then he was really sweaty now. They were so close. Al never wanted to kiss someone so badly. His eyes slowly closed.

"Yo, Jones!"

A shared gasp, and the pair ripped their hands and gazes from one another. A small gathering of some of Alfred's teammates grinned while others squinted, baffled at the two supposed enemies sitting hip-to-hip in the middle of the bleachers.

"Break's been up for like, five minutes now. What're'y'doing?"

"Um! Just chilling," Alfred squeaked. He shoved from his spot like the wood was aflame, only glimpsing over his shoulder, but not quite at Ivan, as his team began to disperse. Quickly, "The game starts at two tomorrow. You should come a little early if you want good seats. A-and if you just want to talk or _something."_

With that, Alfred dashed after his team.

~.~

"Big game, sweetheart!" Mom announced with two plates of breakfast. "I bet you're so excited that you're nervous, aren't you!"

Alfred was more excited about strawberry pancakes, but sure, baseball. He stuck his cheeks up for a fake smile. Ma, in turn, dished the plates and a quick kiss to his forehead before grabbing the jam and made the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 look like a trinkle for her pancakes.

"My little Babe Ruth," she cooed past her fork. "This will look good when colleges look into you, if you win—oh, who am I kidding? _Of course_ my Alfie is going to win. Afterwards, we can get some milkshakes on the corner, and maybe I could grab a movie from the machine-"

"Ma...?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Could...could we pick up Ivan before we go?"

Mrs. Jones stared at her son from across the table. A piece of pancake even dropped off her fork for dramatic effect. "You want...oh!" Her smile came back ten-fold. No, twenty-fold. To the max. Busying herself in flipping chunks and dragging them through jam, she almost tripped and fell over her words, that's how fast they came out, "That would be...yes, we certainly could! I suppose you boys made up in the meantime, huh? You two were at each other's throats for the longest time...!"

Alfred stuck a dry piece of pancake in his mouth, not really savoring it, and wondered when the world would squash him like a bug already. "Yeah, ma. I know."

"So, you're talking?"

"Uh-huh."

"Talking-talking? With a little less punching?"

Alfred didn't know what talking-talking meant. "Yup."

"That's good."

"Mm."

Mrs. Jones stunted her fork-occupied fist on the table with a smarmy grin, "Do you like him?"

"Mom!" Alfred whined. "Seriously!"

"Seriously."

"Come on."

"Come on!"

"Yeah, mom, all right?"

"I know, sweetie." Mrs. Jones sniggled in glee at the brilliant bloom across her Alfred's face, before stuffing a little pancake with her jam into her gullet, to get quiet for a few moments for once.

~.~

Alfred tossed a glance over his shoulder, sweeping the cracked streets for any creepers. Even having his backside exposed to the sidewalk was enough to bring the jitters to him on Ivan's doorstep. He sturdily knocked three times, and dropped his hands to fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, but there was no distracting his heart from galloping in his chest.

Footsteps and worried murmurs came from the other side, a moment before a lady's pretty and pale face opened the door. "Hello?"

"Uh, hey!" Alfred blinked to register it wasn't Ivan answering. "Is Ivan there?"

Her light eyebrows knitted in a troubled expression. "Aren't you that boy that always gives him a hard time?"

"Um..."

A little girl's voice piped up from a little ways away, "Who is it? Tell them to go away!"

"I'm Alfred," Alfred tried. He wasn't sure to hold out his hand or not. It was like standing before the Sphynx, to satisfy her questions right or risk being eaten...or a door in his face. "I asked him if he wanted to come to my baseball game s-so we could hang out."

The girl again, "Get out of here!"

Irunya broke her subtle glare to call over her shoulder, "Natalya, _shh!"_ Then back again, "Vanya made no mention of any games."

Natalya dropped into a demonic rumble, _"I know where you live!"_

"Natalya!" Ivan finally came around, still out of sight courteousy of Irunya and her assets, "Please stop being creepy for once." He then asked something Alfred didn't catch, probably in Russian or something.

Irunya shifted, revealing Ivan holding their little sister by her shoulders as she stood before him, glaring behind pale bangs with enough intensity that could fuel half the world. The place seemed small and not really well lit, with a junction between a kitchen and living room, based on the corner of a couch and a cracked picture of sunflowers on the wall. Alfred stuck a smile on his face, but it felt uneasy with his stomach against breakfast. "Um, hi."

"Alfred," Ivan sounded like something squeezed his throat. "What are you doing here? I thought you had baseballs."

"I did, but I-I figured my mom could pick you up. You know, to make things easier so you didn't have to walk all the way there. I-if you still wanted to come. It's fine if you don't. I mean, you'd probably just sit in the bleachers with my mom the whole time-" Dang it, Alfred was supposed to make him want to go. Totally cramping his own style, man.

"No, no! I would like to come," almost desperately. It most likely had to do with something with little Natalya curling her upper lip back and unleashing a growl at Alfred. Uh-huh. Feral child in a feral neighborhood.

Irunya looked surprised. "Oh, Vanya-" Then something in Russian again.

Back and forth. Ivan shook his head. A flourish of hands from his sister. He turned pink, eyes darting everywhere but the doorway. Alfred totally stared.

"I'll be out in five minutes," Ivan announced as Natalya gave a jerk. "Irunya, could you please..."

"Natalya, come on. Don't you want to help me make breakfast?"

"No!"

"Aren't you hungry?"

Natalya's face scrunched up as she stuck her tongue at Alfred.

Irunya made a grabbing motion for her hand, "Then help me make breakfast, okay?" She glanced back at Alfred, suspicious, angry, not buying it, he didn't know because she kept it to a vague contemplative look, and shut the door.

He supposed that could have gone worse. Most certainly. Alfred drooped himself against the rusted railing with a sigh, trying to get his heartrate down whenever it jumped up and sang like an Opera singer on five cans of energy drinks at the sight of Ivan. He wondered if it would ever calm down, or it would keep at it every time they locked eyes.

Like, he knew he was totally gay for the guy, but _sheesh!_

The one thing Alfred was certain about his future was he never wanted to loathe Ivan ever again.

The door opened, and the railing gave a wobble as Alfred straightened, trying to look good. Ivan seemed to make it effortless, after all, although his mouth seemed to be set in a slight down-curve as he closed the door behind himself. Their gazes met, and the world stopped spinning for a little bit.

"Y-you look nice," Alfred blurted, and he really did. Despite his surroundings, Ivan was a sunflower towering over the cracks and toxicity of the world.

A shy smile to the concrete, and _nobody_ would be able to stop gawking, "You think so?"

"Fuck yeah, man."

Crud, that wasn't really eloquent, was it?

Still, Ivan looked up, cheeks going pink against the morning breeze, and pulled a half-smile. "You're such a silly man, Alfred."

Annnnnd there he goes, making Alfred think about macking on him again.

The car honked, not loud, like Mrs. Jones barely touched it, but it was enough to give them the heebie-jeebies and practically sprint down the steps. As soon as Ivan peeled open the rear door, she shrilled, "Good morning there, honey!"

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before slamming his door. Did she really have to call Ivan honey?

With much less gusto, "Good morning, Mrs. Jones."

"It's so nice of you to join us."

Ivan made a non-committal hum, putting his eyes toward his hands fiddling into a knot of long fingers.

"Mom," Alfred asked, "really?"

Mrs. Jones blinked innocently, but her son knew better. Especially with that villainous smile threatening to curl the side of her mouth. "I even brought a blanket, so we're not sitting on those splintery bleachers."

"Oh, that's nice."

Alfred risked a slow peek over the shoulder, to the rear seat. It was awkward. He didn't blame Ivan. The last time he and his mom talked, Mrs. Jones chewed him out for man-handling her son.

Look how far they came. Ivan glanced up, doing that shy smile that made Alfred want to pinch his cheeks even more than usual, and Alfred jerked his head back to stare out the window. Everything before seemed so silly now.

~.~

Before the bleachers, Mrs. Jones stuck a hand over her eyes, looking like a pirate scouring the sea for booty, except she was a baseball-mom scouring for enemy-team parents. "I'll go look for somewhere good to sit, all right?" She gave the pair a knowing smile. "Alfred, I think you have a few minutes before your Coach wants you, so...you boys know where I'll be."

As soon as she turned her back, Alfred snatched Ivan's hand and towed him around and underneath the bleachers, where a wall had been knocked out for a secluded spot just out of sight. Cigarette butts and old Styrofoam cups littered the sand and gravel. Romantic. Sarcasm intended.

Of course, for the _n_ th time already that early afternoon, Alfred's heart started to gallop around the field. It yearned for him to throw himself in Ivan's arms, but he knew they had to talk. The past required a lot of stitches, and while the threads were going smoothly so far, it proved to be a commitment to keep the sweet song from going sour.

"Did you want to say something to me?"

"I don't know," Alfred said, when he knew the answer, but didn't want to say it.

Ivan stared at the ground for a few moments before squeezing Alfred's fingers into his palm. "I always wondered why you acted the way you did toward me. The other kids would laugh at me and say mean things, but you were always..."

"Being a little bitch?"

"Yes."

Alfred pouted at Ivan's readily agreement (even though he said it).

"Is that what boys do when they like each other? They punch and beat each other up?"

"Maybe?"

"That is what you did, Alfred."

"Does that mean you're going to choke me again?"

"Don't sound so excited about it."

"S-sorry, man."

Ivan shook his head, not really minding. Or at least Alfred hoped not. "We said we were silly kids, but then you came up to me that day and told me you wanted to make me smile. I thought you were playing a cruel game with me, Alfred. A new way of hurting me. I would lie in bed, unable to sleep because I was so angry."

"At me?"

A nod. "At myself for believing you. For wanting to believe you."

Well, dang. Why couldn't everything coming out of Alfred's face sound that deep? He kept gawking with those squeezy feelings in his chest that made his heartbeat run up his throat. It was awe that Ivan would say that. Awe, that he said that to _him._ It felt fucking amazing. And maybe a little lightheaded.

"So, if this is a game in the end, we both look like fools."

"I guess it's a good thing it's not then," Alfred whispered. God, he was _whispering,_ like someone would stick an ear to the boards above their heads and gobble up the words only meant for them.

Ivan tipped his head a little to the side, blinking once, probably surprised how certain the words came out of Alfred's mouth. He had to be sure. The future would come so quickly one day, and there was no way Alfred would leave either one of themselves behind.

"Can I kiss you?" Alfred blurted. His cheeks felt like they flushed firetruck red as soon as the question was let loose into the world. He shouldn't have asked.

Ivan let out a sharp breath through his nose, almost laughing. "No."

Maybe it was a good thing Alfred asked. "Why not?"

"You win your baseball game. Then I will kiss you."

"Oh, come on!" Alfred was done whispering, and whined in a loud squawk, "That's not fair!"

Ivan's grin threatened to bring the bleachers down. No. It was a villain's smile, and Alfred was totally getting his butt handed to him. Here, Ivan insisted it was a game on Alfred's part, that he was the one deviously twirling his metaphorical mustache, plotting in a dark lair of how to get one up on the other. _No!_ He revealed his true colors, his true intentions! Giving their joined hands another overly-friendly squeeze, it was only to play a distraction as he lifted his other hand and cupped Alfred's cheek. Alfred was powerless before him.

How soon had this delicate flower spun to reveal its thorns.

He let out a defeated cry, "You're a jerk!"

"You like me, yes?"

Admission to submission. Something much more intimate was playing here. Alfred's insides squirmed like restless worms, and he almost stamped a foot in the sand to tell them to _chill the fuck out._ Not that it would effectively work. He smiled as fingers gently squeezed a rosy cheek, and it was worth going to the dark side in the end.

"Yeah. Still do."

Ivan simply nodded, probably already had plotted the script, the surrender, "I will hold you to that, Alfred. If you play a joke, or a game, or run off to someone else's arms and leave me in the dust, I will break you. I don't care how much I like you, and how much it will make me cry. I. Will. Destroy. You. Okie-dokie?"

Alfred gave the palm holding his face a nudge, absolutely smitten and unable to help a ready agreement, "Okie-dokie."

"Good boy. Maybe I _will_ give you a little kiss for now, so you work hard to win, okay?"

Alfred's eyelashes fluttered—they freaking fluttered, man!—when Ivan leaned forward to nudge his nose against his face, then kissed his skin as the Sun has always done, leaving a wet mark behind. Alfred let out a happy grunt (totally attractive), promising, "I'll win. Then we'll blow this popsicle stand. And never look back."

"You're funny, Alfred. My silly little popsicle."

Oh, hell yeah. "I'll see you."

"And I'll see you. Make sure you win. I want to kiss you."

Alfred giggled as Ivan's hands slipped away, and he stumbled forward, almost following after him, but stunted himself in the dirt and gave himself a shake. He would win. In fact, he would win so hard and flawlessly, those other kids won't know what hit them.

He had to get his head in the game. Baseball, at least. If not for himself, than for Ivan.

And all the promises that came with him.


End file.
